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 Feb 2018 Greenie
Nat Lipstadt
VD/ lasting life

I have VD.

the decapitating, desiccating disease slow taking over

every day another word withers and there are no replacements

the diminishing returns cannot be substituted and all losses are
permanent, like Samson’s hair, once cut, cannot grow back

I live alone.  Easier then conversing,
gaps in your sentences,
****** communication that is pointless anyway

banished by overuse and incapacitated;
tarnished by time, silver polish resistant;
too late for inoculation the cortex eroding;
the Vocabulary Diminishment has cost me so far:

rain and all its weathered relations;
sad and it’s variant cousins;
body partition arrhythmia, breathtaking breathing loving has
jumped overboard

lasting life

never bothered me that verse and curse rhyme so fittingly,
fit for life, for ‘tis nothing but re-racked intermittent rhymes,
reasoned rhythms connecting the intermittent mayhem’s
dropping by for fun and choosing, verse or curse

nevertheless, won’t bother to explain the difference
between last and lasting, leave it for you to self-teach-taught

nonetheless,  body is degrading, the needs grow strongly weaker and the bites taken out by time, her, imagination, p ain,
even worse words disappear, f irst a letter the hole s aces are
modern art product, avant garde  at the finish line

empties remain as abscesses with all-access passes,
cortex locked on only receive is busted and most of your
transmissions go direct to the
Junk mail folder

winter drags and summer now a vision of was and no longer a
will be, a thrilling sensory palace with a closed sign
appliqué to my weakened ayes

time to rise time, to shave, put on the cutaway uniform
when you obtain the obligatory occasional I love you
and it winces, and tears still come easy
when you want them too
but you don’t want them to arrive or
let depart the ones that presently dry
of their own according in their place

mechanics of writing are obstacles and the cherished
lovely fluidity of transportation traveling transformation is searingly wearing and beyond the just,
the reach, of the true meaning of meme
which means has no more to communicate

the days of slow wasting away,
when the touch is worse
you say out out loud to the tiles
shave away the slough, flush the fallen skin cells,
just cut me down, these bad poems are too onerous
when the brrrain is hardened ice ball hitting forehead

so we go away in every sensory hurrah
retired to solitary ask no questions expect no answers
dreaming of healings but that is another self-starting movie
dreaming sequence that has been erased

fearsome, the energy drinks required to survey survival,

much easier to bid adieu and bypass au revoir

the standard set can be modified or erased
and everyone wants a shortcut lesson to skip to the
top of the line, are they unaware that line will choke au fin

important meetings ahead, assembly the solutions and your
children want answers and you give them a mirror and implore
them do better than thy lousy training

don’t make no difference, their genomes contain
mon nom so they come cursed and I who wrote, shot prayers
on skywriting writ, have none to offer present-lies

poor babies too long this elegy, too bad for you
work is hard and no r&r location on my list and short
attention spans will bring you low in world of words


say bad bye to over loved companions

https://hellopoetry.com/words/

the Vocabulary Diminishment disease don’t permit
reuse: true colors needed crest creation and all the
breaks are bad and the words have fled my pointer
fingerprint fingertip

code only in 0’s;
it’s like having halve a tongue
and if you were among the lucky few who knew my visage,
look away look away and let this too long spaghetti sauce be
recipe thrown away my vision is satisfied

3:11 am and no more
s words to fall upon
 Feb 2018 Greenie
ivy
Every weekend, I take boys to the beach.
At midnight he grabs his keys and drives me to the most serene, yet rocky beach.
The water feels warm, but it makes my touch cold.
I get wet from playful splashing, we were laughing, but I was holding back my feelings.
Not really ready to dive in. Not touching, not even loving,
Just enjoying his time and the gas he spent.
Just for me.

Another week passes, another piece of magic.
Before college and the knowledge I had,
Before I knew what was about to happen:
I'm nearly **** in a two-piece. Pulling and tugging at my assets, Glancing and once more, laughing at our conversations filled with flirting.
Not knowing what I'm wanting.
Second guessing my flaunting.
I'm a siren singing a song of tragedy.
Luring these boys who want to fix me.
He held me close, and didn't want to let go.
His lips touched my neck, my back, my shoulder, but I didn't roll over.
He still held me near for warmth on this cold, cold, sandy beach.

On my last breath, on my last note, I closed my eyes for a time and I just wanted to go.
I was done with love and searching for closure in the ocean’s moisture.
I was done with making promises, hearing them say they love all of this; I was especially done with the lies that they practiced, behind their eyes there was no reflection.
Now all these boys want the ocean.

And that much I notice.

I am a siren and I sing my song until I can no longer breathe oxygen.
That is when the ocean swallows my sorrow for a while when I follow them.
The boys line up, and I catch feelings for one.
He understands my song.
He sang it once.
Drove two hours just to find where it was coming from.

And on that same beach, different waves pushed and pulled that night.
Smiles lit up the dark sky, and we laughed and kissed under the moon’s tide.
Yes, I am a siren.
I am a hypocrite.
I sing to my heart's content, till it's tired, worn out, and I become irritated.
But my love comes from within.
No matter how dark it is, the lighthouse is in him.
After, you ghosted me. And now, I'm happy.
 Jan 2018 Greenie
Joshua Haines
It becomes silent
to where I can only hear
the ringing in my ears.

I am comfortable
to the point where
I feel no longer alive.

There's a burden on
my neck that causes
me to slouch.

And I eat and sleep
throughout the years.

And I add meaning
to the days but they
become contrived.

I try with all my
might to give life a good
fight, but all I do is
panic on my couch.
Over success.
 Jan 2018 Greenie
wordvango
Sounds like the sun setting
When you get sad baby
Sounds like the moon refusing
To get up
It says **** all this
I'm taking the night off
Sounds like all the traffic
Outside rubber
Asphalt wheel bearing brakes
When you said
You come home from work
To no one
I looked up at the neon sign
Annie's Convenience Store
Crickets minnows
Some nameless CIG
Advertised
$3.59
And felt the same 1000
Or more miles away
And all I can do
Say
Is kiss you in words smack that *** virtually
To get you to smile I
Say stupid **** and verbalize how
I talk to the stars

And they all know your name
 Jan 2018 Greenie
King Panda
gnaw red your bone
in the aliform of dream
this

allocation of my
guts spreads lips
onto stained paint buckets
I

never meant for
us to be beautiful
adding

music
to every line
that came out
your mouth—

a moth-springing
butterfly
its

wings no longer
dusted but

dried and wasteful.

it was the
paradox of doubt
and

I cried through
painkiller night
 Jan 2018 Greenie
Eliot York
that i've been reading your poetry
(on the new front page)
and,

I ******* love
your words; your worlds;
it's like i'm,
    there. right there,
with you.

you see, i didn't do what you do--
         write my story aloud
--when i was fifteen, or even twenty-two

just an inch off the ground
                        i confided in clouds
stayed lost (was a puff too proud)

that was then, sure, but even today
   (it's 11:11, now)
putting any of it down
committing to this word, not that
this sentiment,
      not that
this meaning
       (and not simultaneously that)
              is walking through fire

and so, for leading the way
           let me just say,
                       i love you

and please,
don't ever stop.
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